Epilogue
by Sabverus
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth. SPOILERS for 'A Most Rueful Comedy'.
1. Checkmate

((Lindsay's.))

Severus sat in his armchair, unusually silent, as he watched Sabine rise to refill her coffee mug. It was very late, but still they lingered over the bitter drink, neither saying much. The Master could not speak for his companion, but he knew that he, at least, was loathe for the night to end... It carried far too much finality. The end of term feast was the next day, and Severus knew well that this might be the last night he would ever do this. He knew how very possible it was that he would never see her again; this fascinating woman that he had mysteriously connected with, whom in his mind he had affectionately termed "his American native."

As she passed so close to him and he inhaled her scent, looking up at her coltish frame, he was struck by a sudden urge. He reached out, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her down into the chair, into his lap. He raked his dark gaze over her; her intelligent hazel eyes wide and questioning, her mouth slightly open in surprise. _You have no idea what you do to me..._

Curling a long-fingered hand around the back of her slender neck, he kissed her - softly, briefly, but enough to have it etched in his memory, for better or worse.

"Checkmate." He breathed softly. "Your move."


	2. Readaptation

((Eileen's.))

"My poor, dear girl."

Normally, from a ghost, this would sound morbid- as they did in general begin taking the pain of society as quite amusing after the first hundred years or so. Paler even than most of her kind, and clad in a high-necked silvery robe with an ornate belt and a rigid updo, the shadow of what had once been Lucille Greypoole (long ago rechristened Lamenting Lucy by the students) sat upon- or rather, floated several inches above- one of the desks in the tidy and otherwise almost empty Charms classroom. Meanwhile, its recently returned professor gazed out of one of the long windows.

Sabine was taking her return to America very well, in most eyes. A year had done a great deal to the memories of her students, and few remembered well enough to tell the difference between Professor Trefethen's natural melancholy and the gloom that seemed to linger about her now. As always, she was quite calm about matters- and when one of her closer colleagues commented on her lack of motivation of late, she waved it away as a symptom of readaptation and gave a pleasant smile.

_"It's funny, but things that seemed so crucial in Britain seem to be so frivolous now."_ The coffee pot in the staff room had not gathered a fingerprint from its most avid patron since the year before. _"It's lost its taste for me, I believe."_

As it was, Sabine tightened her grip on the windowpane, even going so far as to rest her forehead against the polished, elaborately carved wooden frame. Crisply, with all the conviction of one asking whether the other wanted one or two lumps of sugar: "Lucy. Will it be like this until I die?"

The spector was silent for a moment, deciding whether to retort indignantly. "No," she said finally. "It will be longer."


	3. Awakening

((Lindsay's.))

Silence.

The deep, brooding emptiness filled the dungeons, seeming to carry with it a tangible ache. It was an eerie change from the incessant sound of footsteps that had echoed through the cold stone halls for weeks... Then, suddenly, they stopped.

Severus stood on the worn patch he had created in his carpet, pacing before the fireplace - back and forth, back and forth; fierce and touchy as a caged panther. His students had paid the price in full for even the smallest infraction, those past few weeks.

He had no such energy now. He slumped over the mantle, brooding into a glass of brandy, the embers dying in the hearth as the room went dark. He didn't care. Finishing the liquor in one swallow, he dashed the glass into the fire, and flames leapt up for a brief moment, lapping hungrily at the drops of alcohol.

He collapsed into a chair and covered his face with his hands. She had her friends in America to return to, but he was left just as alone as always - except now, he had something to miss. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Why couldn't he get past this?

_Because you spent every waking hour with her, you drunken prat._ The voice in his head reminded him... As if he needed reminding. _She was always with you, and you loved every minute of it. You-_

"Stop," he hissed at himself. He did not need to be told. He knew what that voice was going to say next. His eyes fell on the silver ring he still wore on his left hand, and he felt a pang of bitterness. "Dear God, I'm an ass."

"You're also a wizard, dear," his mirror yawned sleepily. "Don't judge yourself too unkindly, we can't all be pretty."

"Shut up." He snapped harshly, then blinked. "You blithering idiot." Rising quickly, he scratched a note to Dumbledore and left with purpose to reach the next Apparition point.

Though Severus had never before been to America - and after half a moment's consideration, decided he never wanted to be there again - it was no great trouble for the infamous Potions Master, Albus Dumbledore's pet bat, to find Regalus Academy. The reason for his presence there was a matter of great speculation amongst the American witches and wizards that greeted him upon his impromptu arrival, and he quickly shook them off, finding their rough, drawling accents irritating to his British ears.

"Excuse me," he accosted a passing student. "Can you tell me where to find Sabine Trefethen?"

The student stared at him dumbly.

Severus raised a brow. Surely his accent was not that difficult to understand; they did, after all, speak the same language... He hoped.

"Oh, you won't get anything out of her, mister." A passing youth said. "Been hit with the Hornet's Hearing Hex, she has. Can't hear a thing when you speak to her except this buzzing..." He gestured to his own ears. "Professor Trefethen, you say? Oh, that's an easy one. Just go up the stairs behind you, take a left, and it's the first door past the bust of Elena the Eerie." The student went on his way, and Severus was quick to follow the instructions.

The door was not latched when he found it, and he pushed it open, watching a female ghost make an exit through the wall. There was a tall woman standing against the window...

_Sabine._ She seemed to have lost weight, he noted with some concern, which on a body as lean as hers was not prudent. He felt an immediate compulsion to spirit her back to Britain, where a person was fed properly... But then again, he smiled wryly, he hadn't been eating either.

The smile stayed as he magically produced a mug of French-Colombian, which he had not touched since that last night.

"With all due respect, Ms. Trefethen," He commented in a quiet purr, "You look as if you could use a cup of coffee."


	4. Arrival

((Eileen's. A monologue from Sabine's point of view.))

When...when I was a little girl, and you mustn't tell anyone, I would occasionally dream of a handsome prince coming when I was grown to take me to his castle. Oh, he would scale the walls of my tower- for I would have a tower, you know, in these dreams- and sweep me off my feet, or he would lift me onto his fine white horse. I always assumed that that was the only way to rescue a damsel; I was quite wrong indeed.

Severus Snape is not a handsome man, you see. I have never minded, because I am not a beautiful woman- but I tell you, when I turned from my position at the window, the place which I would visit to be miserable, when I needed such a moment, and saw his form in the doorway... I!

I didn't believe, I truly didn't. I believe I screamed: not loudly, just a little, or perhaps not even a gasp. I shouldn't have, you know, but I stepped forward, shaking like one of those disgusting maidens in the storybooks, and I...I put out my arm, and I brushed my fingers against his robes- because I didn't believe! I could not believe that Severus Snape was real, and standing before me in all of his glory, and holding, of all things, a coffee cup. Infuriating!

Imagine my anguish- how dare any unliving object occupy those perfect hands! I longed to send it to the floor, but I was not moving of my own will, you know- I felt as though I were in a dream. So I took it from him, the cup, and I set it on the shelf close by, and I gathered his hand in both of mine, for his are a good deal larger... and I kissed it! One of those alabaster knuckles brushed against my lips, and I was certain my heart would implode, and I would die there, of... I don't know what.

Then, with one hand, because I dared not release his own lest he disappear altogether-- I caressed his cheek, like I had watched the trophies on the Avenues do to their husbands... yet in a different manner. How different! Those women know nothing of this! Nothing!

My lips, they sort of...parted, on their own accord, and I wished that he would kiss me again. He didn't, though, only took my hand from his face and held both of mine between one of his, and brushed some hair back that had fallen in front of my eyes. Oh, why didn't I ask! I could have asked, you know, and he would have... I do not believe that, if I had kissed _him_ then, that he would have refused me.

You understand that I had not cried since my childhood. I wept then, though, just a few bittersweet tears, and he could have wept, too, I know, if he had been able. Oh!

Good God, how I love him! So dearly!


	5. Finale

((Lindsay's. Severus' point of view.))

I've never loved anyone before.

I'd never felt the sweet, sweet pain that one person can inflict on another; that ecstatic, excruciating blend of agony and pleasure, of joy and heartache, of madness and raw, utter clarity. I was on top of the world and I was six feet in the grave, and I didn't know nor care which way was up.

And I suppose I'm a glutton for punishment, because I reveled in it all.

Do you know, I expected her to slap me. For that is what I know - a cold word, a hateful glance, a hand or wand raised against me. It has all been a part of my life from the day I was born. So when she turned to me, her soft cry strangled before it ever left her lips, I fully expected to receive what was coming to me. I saw myself being turned away; told that, once again, I was too late.

But when her fingertips brushed my robes in that tentative, questioning touch… When she took the cup from my hand and raised my fingers to her lips… Oh, God. I felt my heart would stop, that I would collapse there and then and die in rapture, because _she_ had touched me, _she_ had kissed my hand, all of her own volition, without any rash movements or silly talk of checkmates or pomegranate juice. Oh, dear God… My dear, sweet wife; my American native… My Sabine! _My_ Sabine, yes, mine, for I had laid claim to her from the moment I saw her, from that very first day that I called her from her conversation with the students, though I didn't know it at the time. Every moment, every memory, they were all mine! I hoarded them like the jealous serpent I was, and I laid my claim upon her.

I remembered that Hades tricked his lovely queen into eating but five pomegranate seeds, and she was trapped with him forever. Who better to play the role of the lord of darkness than I? But there would be no tricks here - even if I could bear to deceive her, Sabine is far too clever for such games. The simple truth is, I would give her all she wanted. All the darkness, all the light; all the coffee, the books and all the kisses… I would lay down my own life if it was asked of me, and that is not a sacrifice I was ever willing to make for the sake of just one person. If only she would stay with me…

I drew a shuddering breath as she caressed my cheek, for suddenly my lungs would not function properly, and closed my eyes. Only for the briefest of moments - I did not want her to disappear, did not want to wake and find it had all been another damn dream…

Her lips parted and oh, how badly I wanted to taste them, to feel their warm softness against mine, yielding to my touch… I held her hands close against my heart, and brushed the raven black hair out of her eyes with my fingertips… Her hazel eyes! How expressive, how intelligent… She judges herself too harshly, you know; I watch her with her friends. She is blind to her own worth… I can see it, and much more.

She started to cry, then, and I admit that at first I was alarmed, thinking that once again I had done something wrong. But they were tears of joy, and I felt my heart swell in my chest - I swear it, I did! - at the thought that those tears were for me. I brushed them away, stroking her face, and kissed her gently, hoping impossibly to convey all I felt through my contact.

I gathered her against me, holding her close, and oh, but her form felt wonderful in my arms.

"Sabine," I whispered softly, unable to keep the warmth from my voice as I uttered her name. "Can you keep a secret?"

She nodded, and I lowered my lips to her ear.

"I love you."


End file.
